


If It Walks Like One

by Moorishflower



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters make mistakes when they get drunk. Sometimes that means forgetting that you have children, sometimes that means bringing home baby animals...Sometimes that means realizing that you're not the father figure you wanted to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Walks Like One

  
Okay, so, mistake number one is probably allowing Sam to talk him into buying the three bottles of tequila, you know, just to celebrate them being back together again. Even though Dean's eaten up with guilt over having to leave Lisa and Ben, and what the _fuck_ is up with Sam being bestest friends with a bunch of creepy cousins they never even knew they had? But still, it's _Sam_ , his little brother, his Sammy, and Dean buys the alcohol with the tacit understanding that he's probably going to end up with a. a mild case of alcohol poisoning, and b. a splitting headache. So, that was mistake number one.

Mistake number two is letting Sam convince him it would be a good idea to invite Castiel. "He's having a hard time," Sam says, except he says it in that new way he has, where he's considering it like their father would have considered an injury. He's looking for ways to fix it, not just to make it _better_. "I mean, the whole thing with…"

"I know," Dean says. And considering Castiel's track record with booze, maybe they should have let that particular sleeping dog lie, but Dean has _missed_ Castiel. Almost as much as he's missed his little brother.

So he says "yes", and that's the second mistake.

The third mistake is letting Sam and Castiel convince him that they need to go to a park _right the fuck now_. Sam's words, not Castiel's, but Cas looks like he wholeheartedly agrees, and Dean's the only one even remotely sober enough to drive, so he packs them both into the Impala, and he drives them to the park. He distinctly remembers Castiel leaning forward and smelling his hair.

Everything after that is sort of a blur, and Dean is pretty sure he passes out.

But not, apparently, before driving them all back to the motel.

"What the fuck," he says, and his voice is too loud and his throat hurts, so he rolls over onto his side and groans, because he has the vague idea that maybe if he _vocalizes_ his pain, it will somehow go away. His legs are all tangled up in bed sheets, and he has a headache that could kill a small rhino.

" _Fuck,_ " he says again, except this time it comes out far less articulated, more of a long, low, "Fuh" sound. He tries to lift a hand to rub his palm over his eyes, but can't. It hurts too much. Why the hell is it so bright?

Oh. It's daylight.

A hand appears, hovering somewhere just in front of his line of vision. Logically, Dean knows it's attached to an arm ( _somewhere_ ), but all he can focus on is the glass of water it's holding. Dean gropes feebly for it, manages to curl his fingers around it. The mysterious hand helps him hold the glass to his lips, and he takes several long, deep swallows. The water is cold enough to hurt, and he has to pause and hiss in pain for a minute. In that time, the hand vanishes for a moment, and then returns holding two small, white pills. _Aspirin_. The hand helps tilt his head up while Dean hoovers Aspirin and water into his mouth, and, slowly, the rest of the world wobbles into shaky existence.

"You should be a nurse or something," he croaks at Castiel, and the angel tilts his head, an achingly familiar gesture. Dean squints; Castiel is missing his usual trench coat, his shirt is unbuttoned and he's missing his tie. His slacks are still on, but just barely- they hang off his narrow hips, threatening to fall down any minute.

 _There's something off about this picture,_ he thinks. "Uh, Cas, did we…?"

It's not possible for Castiel to tilt his head any further than he already is, but if he could, Dean's willing to bet that he'd be rocking a ninety degree angle right about now. "We imbibed copious amounts of alcohol, yes."

"Gee, and here I thought this headache was from a long night of Scrabble and Disney movies." Castiel frowns. "I _know_ we got drunk, Cas, but what happened _after_ we got drunk?"

"We went to the park."

Dean vaguely remembers the park. Sam had wanted to go there, had been downright _insistent_.

"It'll be like when we were younger," he'd said, bottle of tequila in one hand and the other holding on to the inside of the Impala's door, just to keep him steady. "When we…when we slept outside and watched the stars. When dad was…"

And then Sam had fallen silent, and Castiel had looked sad, so Dean had driven them all to the park. But he can't remember anything _after_ that. All he knows is that Castiel looks like someone tried to ravish him last night, and (and this is a new discovery) Dean isn't wearing any pants. He fumbles for the bed sheets twined around his ankles and hauls them up, uncomfortably aware that Castiel doesn't distinguish between scrutinizing someone's face and scrutinizing someone's junk.

"Did we have _sex_ ," he says, finally, short and fierce and a little bit anxious, because Dean's fine with the whole "being a dude" thing, it's just the _angel_ part he's a bit concerned about, and Castiel's recent distance, and Sam.

 _Sam_. Where's Sam?

"We did not engage in sexual intercourse," Castiel announces, and Dean groans and tries to cover his ears.

"Christ, Cas, say it a little louder, why don't you? No, _don't_ , that was sarcasm. So if we didn't fuck, then what _happened_ last night?"

"You were adamant that you would be 'taking advantage' of me, andyou said that you were 'not that sort of guy'."

" _What_."

"And then I placed you on the bed, and you fell asleep. Sam was quite disappointed."

Dean gapes like a fish as Castiel idly straightens out his tie, and then finishes with, "I feel that I should inform you that your level of intoxication far exceeded my own. If anything, I would have been taking advantage of you."

Which is about the time when Dean hears the first quack.

He struggles to raise his body up off the bed enough to see what's going on. It's immensely difficult, and after a few moments of struggling (and failing) to get his nauseous, dehydrated body to cooperate, Castiel finally leans down and scoops one arm under the small of Dean's back, lifting him up as easily as a…

 _Don't think about babies,_ Dean tells himself, and then peers blearily around the room.

The motel room is set up in exactly the same way as all the rest: ancient television balanced on top of a rickety entertainment center a few feet away from the foot of the bed, nightstands containing Gideon Bibles and phonebooks, a bathroom with a flickering light, carpet that's exactly the right color to hide any suspicious stains, and, of course, two beds.

Sam is draped across the other bed, horizontally, rather than vertically, and he's snoring softly. His clothes, thankfully, all seem to be in place, and there's an empty bottle of tequila sitting on the floor next to the bed, Sam's hand dangling limply right next to it.

He's also covered in ducklings.

"Am I hallucinating?"

"You are not,"

"Then why is Sam covered in ducks?"

"Because he did not want to leave them in the park," Castiel says gravely. One of the ducklings quacks, and then tumbles off of Sam's shoulder and begins trying to eat his hair. "He requested the use of my coat as a means of transporting them back here."

Oh. That explains the lack of a coat, at least.

"Cas," Dean says faintly. "I think now would be a good time to get another room."

"You wish to engage in sexual intercourse?"

"No!" Dean buries his face in his palm, groaning uselessly. "Look, I just don't want Sam to wake up and get the wrong idea. He'll be a huge asshole about it." It _will_ happen, if he doesn't leave – Dean doesn't know what Sam's time in the Pit was like, but it's changed him. Some big ways, some small ways, but whatever it was he saw down there, whatever it was he endured, it's made him a harder man than before. Dean can't even make fun of him, anymore, for his compassion, his willingness to talk. It's just _gone_ , and replacing it is some dark humor that Dean finds familiar, but strange.

"I understand," Castiel says softly. His hand is warm and solid against the small of Dean's back as it helps prop him up further, and Dean finally manages to lurch to his feet with all the grace of a wounded buffalo. He leans heavily against Castiel's shoulder, and wonders if all angels smell like cinnamon and rosemary, or if this is something unique to Castiel.

He thinks of Ben, and Lisa, waiting for him in some place that will never be a home, but it's the closest thing to it as he's ever gotten. Something in his chest aches, and Dean realizes with a start that it isn't longing, but _duty_. His chest is filled with it, it crowds against his spine and pushes out his organs, it wraps around his heart and holds it there, unable to escape. Because Ben deserves a father, and Lisa deserves someone who will come back to her. They _deserve_.

The ducklings make their soft, honking noises as they crawl over Sam's prone body, and Dean closes his eyes and feels the headache pounding in his skull warring with the ache in his chest.

"Cas," he says quietly.

"Yes, Dean?"

"I know you're busy and all, but…have you ever seen the Grand Canyon?"

Dean can't see Castiel's expression, but he can imagine it: raised eyebrows, mouth pressed into a thin line, confused, but not in any way that could be mistaken for human.

"I have not."

"Neither have I." Dean smiles, faintly. "I always told myself I'd go, but Sam and I never had time. And then Lisa, and Ben…he needed someone to take care of him."

"You are a good father, Dean Winchester."

"Am I?" He lets his head droop, tired beyond belief. "Hey, Cas? You want to go see the Canyon?"

"If that is what you wish."

"It is," Dean says firmly. Something warm washes over him, like a sudden breeze, and the smell of cinnamon gets stronger. He looks up just in time to see Sam, ducklings cradled in his lap, sitting up and watching them. There's something like jealousy in his eyes, something like sadness, and Dean smiles at him just before the motel blurs around them, and suddenly everything is light.


End file.
